


like a flower on the precipice.

by ferris



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, M/M, actualheichou, eruri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:24:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferris/pseuds/ferris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>eruri. angsty. <br/>levi has always been a cynic, but that doesn't stop him from wishing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a flower on the precipice.

Dear Erwin, 

I wish you the best. 

I wish you the wisest, the greatest, the best of fallacies and the best of you, me, and us. I wish you the quiet before the sun rises, when the dawn is still hiding behind her shadowy cloak, when the sun breaks and the sky is golden and blue and pink and by god, is it so  _fucking_  beautiful. 

I wish you the blue of the midday sky, the same as your eyes, and the blinding whiteness of the sun at noon. I wish you the smell of picnics and summertime and the sound of the mill clacking as water runs and powers the whole damn thing. I wish you the sound of birds chirping and the sound of fireworks - not guns, not bombs, not the explosions and screaming of a thousand dying souls - because you’ve heard that too much. 

I wish you the comfort that you might find in a cup of coffee after you come back bloodstained and worn, weary and war-torn. I wish you the smell of the pine and woodsy musk of the fire and the smell of oranges that lingers long after the fruit is gone. I wish you the calm you feel after you see your comrades fallen, and yet you carry on because that is what commanders do. I wish you that feeling that you can’t quite describe when you hold a sword in your hand and wonder why the blood’s not evaporating. 

I wish you the cold, the pain, the hurt, and the fall. I wish you the screams, the cries, the kind of anguish that you can’t fix because it hurts  _so fucking much_. I wish you the worst and I wish you the best because only through the pain can you feel the meager comfort that I can offer you with a cup of coffee, badly brewed but steaming hot, and an embrace so tight that you’d have to pry me off with a fucking crowbar, and even then I will take your hand within mine and whisper wishes into the coldness. 

I wish you the worst of me, of you, of them, of us. I wish you all my love, I wish you all my hurt and pain and comfort and pleasantries. 

I wish for you, Erwin, when you can no longer wish for yourself. 


End file.
